OmegaMine Page 4

  “Trey…” One of the men next to the shifter started to interrupt when abruptly he released her. His caramel eyes shifted, becoming gold.

  She left before any of them could see how unnerved she was. Her hands were trembling and her heart was racing as she cashed the till and stuffed the remainder into the tip jar. Shifters were the oddest creatures. Always sniffing, licking and fighting over pecking order. Undoubtedly he was trying to reinforce his position with his group and mark his place at the club.

  Or maybe he gets off on scaring women shitless.

  “Ava!” Delmar, one of the friendlier bouncers, called out for her from the floor. “Brett said to move your ass!”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she grumbled.

  Before she exited the bar she chanced a look at the shifter with a sniffing fetish. He was on a cell phone now, talking quietly, and those gleaming eyes were focused solely on her. Her stomach flip-flopped and she spun around, marching off to face her doom on the auction block.

  Tonight can’t get any crappier…

  The music stopped, the spotlight on center stage permeated the darkness of the club and she heard Brett’s deep voice cut through the crowd. “Can I have your attention, everyone? We have a birthday in the house, and you know what that means!”

  A chorus of cheers and sexual innuendo carried to her ears and she cringed.

  Strike that. It just did.

  * * * * *

  Ain’t that a pisser?

  Trey Veznor couldn’t believe the turn of events. Here he was, out with pack mates for the first time in a month and the cause of his—and the rest of the packs’—suffering was standing directly in front of him with a scowl on her face. He’d never forget that sweet scent, and the description D had passed along was a spot-on match—delicate and small, blonde hair with shades of pink buried within, big blue eyes.

  Undeniably beautiful.

  D had gone ape-bitch when the little sprite vanished and had called on the assistance of all the shifter communities to locate her. Since the Omega had been born a werewolf—inside Trey’s very own pack some two-hundred plus years previous—that meant the request was personal. He had chosen one place to scour each week—Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx, Staten Island—and Manhattan was the final stop.

  Of all the dumb luck.

  It appeared that Pinkie worked in Times Square, smack-dab in the center of the action, and had been just around the corner from D the entire damn time.

  Un-fucking-believable.

  His eyes never left the tiny female as he retrieved his phone and found D’s number. Allowing her to vanish into nowhere couldn’t happen. The last few weeks had been awful. Even now D was one grumpy-ass son of a bitch. Thank god he was finally about to get laid and mated. Trey couldn’t stand his surly attitude much longer.

  Diskant answered on the second ring. “You’d better make it good.”

  “Club Liminality. Get here. Now.” He closed the cell and ended the call before D could ask questions. The man was already operating on a hair trigger, and telling Diskant he’d found his female would only rile his beasts and make him cranky as shit. Not that Trey blamed his pack mate. Twice he’d gotten his hopes up only to have them crushed. At least now the poor bastard wouldn’t suffer disappointment.

  The hair on Trey’s nape rose and he turned his head to gaze into the crowd. It was there again, that sensation of being watched. Over the last few weeks the weighty feeling of someone’s eyes on him had been a constant. He inhaled deeply, attempting to scent the air, but came up with mostly cigarette smoke, tobacco and various other repugnant smells, including body odor, perfume and cheap alcohol. He waited, anticipating the fleeting sensation that sometimes followed, of a ghostly hand combing through his hair…

  “Is that her?” his second, Nathan, asked and swatted absently at one of the females when she tried to caress his face. At Trey’s confirming nod, he said, “I thought I recognized the scent but I couldn’t be sure.”

  “By the time that pillow was passed around there wasn’t much scent left.” Trey fisted his cold mug of beer and took a hearty swig, listening intently to the announcement of “Ava’s” twenty-seventh birthday, followed by the terms of the auction to win a lap dance from the birthday girl herself.

  The ramifications of such a thing computed—two plus two equals motherfucking disaster.

  D would rip out any male’s throat just for looking at that female. If she were sitting on some poor human’s lap when Diskant arrived, writhing and gyrating…

  It’ll be a goddamn bloodbath.

  After wiping the back of his hand across his lips, Trey muttered, “Guess I’ll have to win that dance.”

  “You think that’s a good idea?” Nathan’s hazel-green eyes came up slowly, meeting Trey’s stare before he averted his gaze.

  “No, not really.” He slapped the mug on the counter. “But I can handle D. He’ll kill anyone else.”

  “I don’t know—” Nathan was cut short when the bidding began.

  “Five dollars!” a loud drunk hollered.

  “Ten!” another shouted.

  Trey removed his leather coat and handed it to Nathan. Thank god it was a casual night and he hadn’t had to bother with holsters, guns or daggers. He combed a hand through his unruly hair and reached for the mug. Three hefty swallows saw the contents gone. He exhaled softly, put the empty glass down and turned to his Beta.

  “Gather up the crew and have them waiting by the doors. When D gets here you’ll have a few seconds before he picks up her scent. I suggest you use that time to explain why his female is sitting in my lap.”

  He didn’t wait to hear what Nathan wanted to say. He was about to dance with fire and gasoline while carrying a handful of fucking explosives. But at this point did he have any other choice?

  Shouldering past the bodies in his path, he stopped just outside the stage with a soft yellow spotlight shining down. A plain metal chair was placed in the center, the shiny surface waiting for the lucky ass that would take a seat. The female was obviously uncomfortable with the situation. She was fidgeting and staring at the announcer like a terrified rabbit.

  Not one to be obvious, he waited his turn, calling out, “Fifty dollars,” after some dumb schmuck yelled out forty-five. Ava’s dark blue gaze came up, and when she placed him as the bidder her eyes narrowed as her plush red lips thinned. He knew the look, had received it here and there upon occasion, and received the message loud and clear.

  Don’t even think about it.

  Damn, he had this one all wrong. She wasn’t meek, docile or frightened. She was annoyed, insulted and pissed.

  Knowing it was the wrong thing to do, Trey smiled at her livid expression. That only made her angrier. Her pretty alabaster cheeks flushed pink and her midnight blue eyes flashed in warning. When another man jumped into the ring he took perverse pleasure in upping the ante, if only to watch her seethe.

  Oh, D, he thought, laughing to himself. You are fucked.

  Chapter Four

  Diskant didn’t bother parking his bike in one of the allotted positions along the road and drove around the back of Club Liminality instead. Clouds of steam were dancing against the darkened brick walls when he arrived at his destination, oozing from a crooked metal exhaust connected to the kitchen.

  The smells of peanut oil, chicken wings, jalapeños, barbeque sauce and mozzarella sticks hung heavy in the winter air. His stomach gnarled and grumbled in agony, a miserable reminder that he’d forgotten to eat something substantial prior to meeting with the Alpha of the jaguar pride—a close personal friend—in Queens just an hour before.

  Making the immediate decision to order out while he was in the vicinity, he parked the bike next to the kitchen entrance. Removing the key, he climbed off the leather seat, shifted his legs and soothed the cramped muscles while he cracked his neck. Voices merged with the deafening clamor of clanging pots and pans on the other side of the metal door. Yet another busy night at one of the more popula
r shifter clubs in New York.

  Fucking Trey.

  Anything could be going on inside. Diskant could be walking into a pissing contest, a lover’s quarrel or a territorial dispute. Sometimes he enjoyed his sex short and sweet, but never cryptic phone conversations. Besides, walking in blind was never a good thing when it involved a public place, his best friend and a bar owned by a damn warlocke.

  Brett McGovern had already warned that he wouldn’t tolerate any more bullshit from the shifters in the area. The damage from the last brawl had forced him to close shop for over a week for repairs, and he was still taking shit from the police after they’d received bizarre complaints from people about men and women who sprouted fur and fangs. Thankfully the NYPD believed that drugs were a contributing factor for the delusional sightings. Still, it required more face time with the unwitting world around them than either Diskant or Brett was comfortable with.

  Just get in, take care of business and get the fuck out. No fuss, no muss.

  As he neared the grimy metal door, his thoughts drifted once again to a heavenly blonde imp with flushed cheeks, parted lips and cloudy, passion-filled eyes. She smelled so fucking good, female and musky, frightened yet aroused…

  While his leather pants restrained the burgeoning erection that arose at the memory, they didn’t do shit to calm the beasts inside that were running out of patience. Twice now he’d nearly gone ape-bitch, unhinged by the need to locate and claim who he recognized instinctually as his.

  Desperate for satiation, he’d tried fucking a very willing leopardess to take the edge off. The effort was foiled when the wolf, grizzly and jaguar threatened to rip out her throat in the process. His fucktastic reputation took a nosedive as a consequence, and now the only relief he experienced came courtesy of his shower, some decent wrist action and Rosy Palm and her five sisters.

  No woman—shifter or no—would risk her life for a rip-roaring good lay.

  There was only one female who could sate the need to mate, and if he didn’t find her soon he would bloody well kill someone. He was a ticking time bomb, dangerous to everyone around him, including those who turned to him for protection and guidance.

  Adjusting his cock and sac, Diskant shook his head and took a deep breath, attempting to cool the fire raging in his blood. The last few weeks had been hell. The wet dreams started the first night following his introduction to his mate—images of Pinkie on her knees, taking his cock between her lips while he pumped into the back of her throat until he came like a geyser—and damn if waking each morning covered in sticky spunk with a newly formed hard-on wasn’t beginning to piss him off. He was in a constant state of arousal, and even worse, he was unable to do jack-fuck about it.

  He frowned at the grease smears along the knob of the door and announced his presence by kicking on the repulsive entrance instead of knocking. Individual fingerprints were spread all over the place, and a few of them looked like they were enhanced by a sprinkling of brown flakes.

  Christ. Is that breading?

  “What the hell do you want?” someone bellowed through the thick metal barrier.

  “Chavez!” he snarled and waited, annoyed by the growling of his stomach brought on by the heady aroma of food.

  “Hold on!” Diskant heard the head chef order before he thundered, “Damn it, Torino! Get the fuck out of my way before I put you on dish duty!”

  The door opened outward and Diskant used the heel of his boot to heft it wide before he stepped inside. The succulence of the artery-clogging oil was laced with the mouthwatering scent of Chavez’s freshly made fare, or more specifically, the metallic scent of a freshly cut steak. The VIP section served only the choicest hors d’oeuvres and dishes consisting of meats, seafood and pasta.

  “What the hell are you doing here? I didn’t get the receipt for an order.”

  Chavez was scowling but Diskant was sure the honor wasn’t entirely because of him and his presence in the club. The aging chef was getting wily and didn’t tolerate any bullshit. The only reason he allowed Diskant so much leeway was the obscene amount of cash he plunked down when forced to order out for pack meetings. Not to mention Chavez’s very human daughter was bloodbonded to a wereleopard in Brooklyn, meaning Short-and-Pudgy was in the know.

  “I’m meeting someone,” Diskant answered evasively. “Do you think you can fire me up a steak or two to take home? I’m not staying long.”

  A nod was the only answer he received but Diskant took the response at face value. Chavez didn’t like to be bothered when he was on the clock but he always delivered.

  Weaving through the would-be line cooks in his path, Diskant made his way through the kitchen and into the hallway where the restrooms were located. The scents of freshly prepared foods were too strong to allow a good sniff of the club just around the corner, but he knew the moment he cleared the small walkway his nose would guide the way.

  Oddly enough, his ears were able to distinguish the catcalls from beyond. The music wasn’t the usual techno punk garbage most of the patrons preferred.

  It sounded almost like…

  Well, tickle his hairy ass silly. The DJ was playing the fucking blues. The song was familiar, slow and soulful, the voice radiating pain and longing along with the distinctive whine of an electric guitar.

  Trey’s Beta, Nathan, appeared in front of Diskant before he’d cleared the corner, the werewolf’s hazel irises glowing peridot. Nathan lifted a hand and intentionally placed his body in front of Diskant, a very dip-fuck thing to do.

  “Wait, D.”

  “Careful, pup,” he snarled, meeting Nathan’s flashing eyes with his own. It was impossible not to. The Alpha in him wouldn’t back down from another male—couldn’t—and everyone knew how short his fuse was lately.

  Nathan lowered his gaze in a display of respect and submission but didn’t move. “I need to tell you something before you go into the club. It’s about Trey—”

  Diskant’s ears stopped functioning at that point.

  It was all about the fucking nose.

  The scent he caught was one he’d dreamed about, luscious and sweet, honey and musk, cinnamon and sugar. This time she was sweating, and the heady scent caused his entire body to erupt into tremors. He could almost taste those tiny beads of perspiration on his tongue—salty, wet and oh so fucking female.

  He was dimly aware of shoving Nathan roughly aside and forcing random bystanders out of the way. His heart was beating a tattoo in his chest, the tempo steady but increasing. The room shifted as his vision changed and morphed. All sides of him wanted to make sure they weren’t being deceived. He allowed them to rise to the surface, contained only by the barrier of his skin. A steady purr radiated from his chest, followed immediately by a throaty growl.

  The large spotlight above the stage shone down on her hair, highlighting the random strands of bright pink. She was straddling a chair, swaying those luscious hips from side to side. She ground and rotated, left then right, front then back. Her ass was a thing of beauty, round and ripe, full and soft. The thought of pumping into the tight heat sent a spasm down his spine. The animal in him wanted to separate those lush cheeks, find the tiny rosette within and dominate her in the most primal way imaginable.

  Bowing her head, she arched her shoulders as if she were offering her breasts to a lover, and his attention shifted. He groaned, picturing those pert pink nipples that teased him beneath black lace. He wouldn’t neglect them a second time and couldn’t wait to nip at the small pearls with his teeth before soothing the sting with his tongue.

  The men surrounding the stage expressed their approval, growling and hammering for more. He didn’t mind, in fact, he got off on it. Shifters were very sexual creatures, and had no problem with nudity, voyeurism or any other kind of kink. The crowd had every right to admire his mate, and he wanted them to look their fill. Because with or without an audience she belonged to one male, and he would be the only one who would ever touch her, taste her or fuck her into oblivion.

>   When the music ended with one last soulful guitar note, she lifted her left leg and swung away from the chair. Diskant’s eyes settled on the body that had been hidden until now and he nearly roared in fury. Trey was in the seat, hands clasped to the back legs. His eyes were clouded by desire and his cock was obviously eager to reciprocate the attention as it was tenting the front of his fucking leathers in an approving salute.

  As if he got jive to Diskant’s presence, Trey turned those passion-laced eyes and looked directly at him. The room was suddenly covered in a dark red haze as the fury of a mated male rose within. Never had he experienced such a murderous rage. He didn’t want to hurt, disarm and disable. He needed to attack, demolish and destroy.

  “Son of a bitch!” Diskant leapt onto the stage and tackled both Trey and the chair in a single swoop. The thin, insubstantial metal folded beneath the combined weight of their bodies and went scattering to the left before falling off the stage with an ear-splitting crack. “I’ll rip out your goddamn spine!”

  “D, listen—” Trey’s explanation was interrupted when Diskant’s knuckles met his teeth. Trey’s lower lip split and the rusty bitterness of blood suffused the air.

  Livid, Diskant punched Trey again and wrapped his free hand around his throat. If Trey had been a human and not a shifter, the pressure of Diskant’s fingers would have snapped his best friend’s neck. Instead it cut off Trey’s oxygen supply.

  “God…damn…it…D,” Trey choked as he struggled to break free. “Listen…to…me…”

  Diskant lifted his arm up for a second time, intending to respond to the request with more of the same, when trembling fingers grasped his wrist and a soft voice whispered, “Stop.”

  Christ, her voice was powerful. His entire body quaked upon that touch and command, tremors spanning from his neck to his toes.

  In that moment, all of the anger evaporated. The rage shifted, becoming something different. Pure sexual need slammed into him, so powerful he felt like Trey managed to land a sucker punch of his own when he wasn’t looking. While all of the animals within raged for a turn, the most powerful drowned them out and made their demands first. The cat wanted to lap at her pussy and devour her cream, the wolf wanted to mark her throat as it fucked her from behind and the grizzly wanted to rip the sheets on either side of her fragile body as he pounded into her hot cunt over and over again.